


I'll Soak 'Em If You Ask (That's Why I Don't Ask)

by shipNslash



Series: What a Pair - 5+1 Javid Series [2]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: 5+1, 5+1 Things, Boys In Love, Bullying, Canon Era, Dave is a try hard, Established Relationship, Fluff, Harassment, Hurt/Comfort, Jack loves his boyfriend, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 22:23:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17413646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipNslash/pseuds/shipNslash
Summary: When the Jacobs brothers are finally able to go back to school, Dave's classmates are... less than welcoming. Jack wants to do something about it -and by that, he means he wants to soak anybody who even looks at his fella the wrong way- but Dave insists that it will just make things worse.~Five times Jack sees evidence of Dave being harassed by his classmates and isn't able to help and the one time Dave doesn't need his help.





	I'll Soak 'Em If You Ask (That's Why I Don't Ask)

**Author's Note:**

> So this all started when I read that less than 5% of New York boys in 1900 graduated with a high school diploma. That 5% was almost exclusively from the hyper-wealthy and powerful families. For a young man like David Jacobs to have still been in high school at sixteen (which was the average age for seniors at the time), he was likely suffering a ridiculous amount of harassment to drop out. Please excuse any historical inaccuracies or if I over/under did it on the street kid's accents.

~ _December_ _1899_ ~

 

The first time Jack thinks that maybe something is wrong, it’s Les who tips him off.

 

The Jacobs boys had gone back to school in December when their father found a part time job where one arm was enough. It doesn’t bring in the same money that his factory job had, though, so the boys still sell evening and weekend papers with their old crew.

 

It had become a familiar sight to see the brothers sprinting, red faced and lugging a duffle, down the route from their school to the boarding house. They usually arrived just in time to catch the tail end of the other newsies’ lunch break and would quickly change out of their school uniforms and stow their duffle under Jack’s bed until they could collect it later that night.

 

Today is no exception and Jack tries not to let the smile on his face crack too wide when he sees the familiar shapes of the Jacobs boys scuttling up the fire escape. 

 

“Crutchie, I’m‘a run upstairs and get Dave and Les, okay?” He stands from the table and claps the other boy on the back.

 

Race eyes Jack’s empty plate with disbelief. “I know you ain’t telling Crutchie to do ya dishes, Cowboy.”

  
“Ignore him,” Crutchie says easily. “I got’s you.”

  
Jack smiles and ducks away from Race’s half-heartedly swing. “You’s a pest, Kelly!” He yells but Jack is already halfway up the stairs.

 

When he pushes open the door to the bedroom, he finds Les perched on Jack’s bunk, buttoning his shirt, and Dave sitting in front of the window on the floor, back to Jack and hunched over. 

 

“Heya, Cowboy,” Les says and smiles his new gap-toothed smile. His two front teeth falling out had really made an impact on their sales.

  
“Heya, Les.” He ruffles the boy’s hair. “What’s ya soft-brained brother doing?”

  
Dave shoots Jack an annoyed look over his shoulder. “I’m borrowing your sewing kit. I’ll replace your thread, I just don’t want to have to wake Ma or Sarah up to fix it when I get home tonight.”

 

“Don’t worry about the thread,” Jack says easily and goes to crouch over his shoulder. “What’s you patching?”

 

“School uniform,” Dave says shortly, gray jacket a bunched up mess in his hands. The boy is left in just his worn, gray trousers and his undershirt and Jack finds he has a hard time pulling his eyes away from the broad width of his sweetheart’s shoulders.

 

When he steps closer, he can see the rip is along the shoulder seam and while it isn’t something Jack would bother fixing in his own clothes, he knows how tidy Dave is, especially with anything related to school. “What happened?” He asks.

  
“Nothing-” Dave starts but Les cuts him off.

  
“Alexander Hopkins was messing with him!” Les hops down from Jack’s bunk with a scowl. “He ripped his jacket on purpose.”

 

Jack’s brain takes a moment to sort through that information and through the fact that Dave is now blushing furiously. “What?”

 

“Some of the other boys at school aren’t...” Dave trails off and then heaves a heavy sigh and turns his attention back to his stitching. “Les, go downstairs and hang out with Snipes or something.”

  
Les groans. “Aw, come on, Dave-”

  
“Now!” Dave snaps. Jack frowns. Dave never snaps at Les. The younger boy obviously realizes that this is unusual as well and scampers off without another comment.

 

“What’s wrong, Davey?” Jack whispers and presses a quick kiss to his temple. “Where those boys bugging you? I’d soak ‘em if you asked.”

 

That, at least, earns Jack a soft smile. “I know you would, Jacky, that’s why I don’t ask. We were just horsing around, is all. It’s no big deal.”

  
It’s obvious to Jack, in that moment, that Dave’s problem with ‘improving the truth’ doesn’t comes from a moral dilemma; more likely, Dave is probably just bitter that he’s the worst liar to ever walk the Earth. Jack can see pinched lines around Dave’s temple and faint tremors in his hands as his steadily works the needle and thread through the rip. He can also see the firm set to his lips and knows that Dave is a real prickly bastard when it comes to taking about his school life, something he keeps completely separate from his life with the other newsies, even Jack.

  
So he just nods and leans forward to press his weight against Dave’s back. “Well, hurry up, we’s got papes to sell.”

  
~ _January_ _1900_ ~

 

The second time it happens is two weeks later.

 

It’s cold outside, the kind of cold that will kill a man if he isn’t prepared, and neither of the Jacobs boys or Jack or Specs have the type of coats and gloves needed to stay warm. Jack had decided that his gang -just this once- was going to skip the evening paper in favor of huddling around each other in the boarding house in an attempt to stave off frost bite.

 

“How much longer?” Specs whines and fidgets with his empty paper satchel. “‘Cause I ain’t made for this weather, Cowboy.”

 

Jack whacks him in the arm. “Stop ya bawling. We ain’t leaving ‘til we let Dave know we’s skipping this evening. I don’t want him and Les beating it halfway ‘cross town for nothing.”

 

“Fine. Touchy, touchy.” Specs tries to wrap himself further in his coat but the third-hand jackets that the nuns hand out only go so far.

  
Thankfully, an ear-splitting chime rings out just then and a swarm of boys instantly pour out of the building. The boys are mostly younger, around Les’ age, and the few older ones that Jack can see all stop together by the front gate to huddle close. None of the shapes are wearing Dave’s familiar brown coat, so Jack dismisses them and focuses on the flow of traffic-

 

“Look alive, Mouth!” Specs calls from beside Jack and he follows the other boy’s eye-line to where two familiar bodies are pushing their way through the masses. 

 

Even over the dull roar, Specs’ voice snags Dave’s attention. His blue eyes scan the crowd unseeingly, and Jack jumps up and waves his hat. “Heya, Davey! Davey, over here!”

  
Dave’s face lights up with a surprised smile and then drops into a worried expression almost instantly. He stops in his tracks a few feet outside of the door, jerking Les to a halt as well. Specs rolls his eyes and climbs up to stand on the fence, cupping his hands around his mouth. “It’s cold as hell’s ice box out here, Mouth, shake a leg!”

 

“Don’t swear in front of Davey’s school,” Jack admonishes, flicking Specs in the ear and tugging him off the fence roughly. “They get’s in trouble if they don’t got good manners or whatever.”

 

Specs only laughs and pushes Jack away. His efforts have obviously spurred Dave on because he starts moving again, tugging Les along behind him with his head tucked down. It’s a distinctly un-Dave like pose, making the normally prideful man seem smaller than he is. As they pass the group of older boys at the gate, Jack can hear a handful of chuckles and can see Dave’s face crumble.

 

Oh, Jack thinks. Dave is embarrassed. He must not want his friends to see him and Les hanging out with the newsies. He feels a blush rise up and he grabs ahold of Specs’ shoulder. “Come on, pal, let’s get outta here.”

  
Behind them, the laughing gets louder. “Better get running, ‘Mouth’, you’d hate to be late for work,” one of the boys says loudly.

 

If Dave replies, Jack doesn’t hear it. He tugs harder on Specs, but they boy doesn’t budge. “I thought we was waiting for Mouth and Les?”

 

“We’ll wait for ‘em ‘round the corner,” Jack says shortly. “Come on.” And then a familiar weight barrels into Jack’s legs. He looks down to see Les, shivering but smiling brightly. 

  
“Jack, what’re you doing here?” He asks happily. 

  
“We just through we’d stop by,” Jack says uncomfortably. “Is Dave saying bye to his friends or what?”

 

That makes Les scowl. “Hopkins ain’t our friend. He’s been giving Dave a hard time ever since we came back to school last month.”

 

That throws Jack off balance. He looks back over at the gate and sees Dave holding himself gingerly, the other older boys surrounding him in what isn’t a friendly manner, Jack now realizes, but a threatening one. Then one of the boys places a hand against Dave’s cheek and pats it condescendingly, a little ‘pat-pat’ motion that fills Jack’s chest with familiar anger.

  
“Les, Specs, wait here,” Jack says and starts striding towards the gate, fists balled up at his sides. 

 

When Dave sees Jack walking towards them, he tries to step away, but one of the boys breaks away from the group to block Dave’s path. “Wait, Davey, stop,” he says in a clearly mocking tone. “Don’t you want to introduce us to your friends?”

  
“I’m in a rush, Hopkins,” Dave says calmly, even as he nervously pulls at the straps of his duffle. “Would you please move?”

 

There’s more laughter and Jack calls out to interrupt it. “Heya, fellas, how was class?”

 

“Oh, here he is,” says the boy, Hopkins, when he turns to find Jack right behind him.

 

Dave shoots Jack a warning look. “Heya, Jack, why don’t you go wait with Les and Specs?”

 

“I was actually hoping you’d let me meet ya buddies here,” Jack says in a relaxed tone. He turns to face Hopkins squarely and looks down at the boy with an expression that would send any street kid running. “I’s just been dying to get’s to know them.”

 

Hopkins is either too stupid or too ignorant to know what Jack is capable of, because he takes a step closer. “Oh? And I’ve been dying to meet you. This must be the famous Jack Kelly we’ve all heard so much about. Strike leader and street urchin.”

  
The group of boys chatters and Dave darts forward to slide himself between Jack and his classmates. “Jack, please calm down,” he says over his shoulder, voice shaky in a way that Jack has never heard before.

 

“Hey, Kelly,” one of the other boys calls out before Jack can respond. “Did you know that our precious Davey here was crying for you today? Fell asleep right at his desk and couldn’t stop saying your name?” There’s laughter from all sides and Hopkins waves his hand to quiet the other boys down. 

 

He leans in close and sneers at Jack over Dave’s shoulder. “Did you know that your union pal here is a queer?”

  
“You dirty, rotten-” Jack lunges for the other boy, only to be caught around the middle by Dave and pulled back. He thrashes madly, mind a buzz of rage and fear - _he said queer, he called Dave queer, fuck_ \- and sends a fist flying wildly.

  
“Stop, Jack, stop!” Dave yells in his ear and tugs his friend towards the gate with all his strength. “Come on, let’s go.”

  
Jack struggles against his hold and remembers back to a few months ago when he could have easily broken out of Dave’s grip. The other boy’s time on the street had hardened him, left him with muscles and scars he’d never have gotten otherwise. “Let me go, Davey! I’m‘a soak these fuckers so good they won’t know which way’s up!”

  
Dave finally manages to get them to the gate and he shoves Jack through. “Jack, stop!” He yells, chest heaving.

  
Specs and Les jog up to the pair, Les with a nasty scowl on his face and Specs with a confused, alarmed expression. He places a hand on Jack’s chest. “What the hell you doing, Cowboy?”

 

“I’m‘a teach Davey’s friends here a real good lesson about what happens when you insult one of Jack Kelly’s boys,” Jack snarls and moves to dart around Dave towards the group of still laughing schoolboys.

 

“No, you’re not,” Dave hisses, shoving Jack back again. “Let’s go- Jack, stop, let’s go.” He grabs one of Jack’s arms and starts to pull. “Specs, help me.”

 

Specs glances wearily between the two boys before grabbing hold of Jack’s other arm and pulling him down the block, kicking and screaming the whole way. Dave leads them to Medda’s theater which is closer than either the lodging house or the Jacobs’ apartment and by the time they arrive, Jack has stopped struggling but is still agitated, pacing around and bouncing on his feet with balled fists.

 

“Specs, take Les out front to watch the show. Jack and I are will join you in a minute,” Dave instructs, not taking his eyes off the older boy.

 

“Yeah, sure thing,” Specs says skeptically. “Come on, Les.”

 

Once they’re alone, Jack stabs a finger into Dave’s chest and snarls. “I though you said nobody knew!”

  
“They don’t know!” Dave’s eyes are brimming over with angry tears. “Or at least they didn’t, until you went and caused a scene like that! They’ve been calling me queer since they learned the word in grade school. It’s just another insult.”

 

“Then why’d you stop me from soaking ‘em? Has going back to school turned you back into the coward you was before the strike?” Jack doesn’t know why he’s being so mean to Dave, who hasn’t done anything wrong, but he can’t stop himself.

 

Dave’s eyes flash with anger. “I didn’t stop you from fighting because I’m scared, Kelly,” he snaps. “I stopped you because I’m only one ‘incident’ away from getting kicked out and my graduation test isn’t for another five months.”

  
That breaks through Jack’s haze. “You what?”

  
“I’m about to be kicked out,” Dave repeats coolly. “You think the teachers want someone like me there? They’ve been doing everything they can to get me expelled. If I so much as look at someone wrong in the next five months, I’m done.”

 

“But that’s not fair! You’s the smartest person I know,” Jack says, anger fading completely. 

 

Dave rolls his eyes and turns away. “It’s not about smart or not, Jack, it’s about money. Les’ class has almost three hundred kids. Do you know how many mine has?” He waits and Jack shakes his head. “Didn’t think so. Eleven. That school has spent the last ten years whittling away at anyone they don’t think deserves to graduate. I’m the only one left in the graduating class who doesn’t come from a recognizable family and they want me gone.”

  
“You do deserve to be there,” Jack insists. “Ya parents do everything they can to keep you there, what more do they want?”

  
“They want to prove I’m trash,” Dave growls out. He sighs and shakes his head and then starts again, calmer. “Listen, I’ve been dealing with this for years. I can take another five months. Please don’t get involved.”

 

Jack shakes his head and resumes his pacing. “I’m not gonna let anyone talk to my fella like that. Me and the boys’ll soak ‘em so good that they won’t mess with you again.”

 

Dave lets out a sharp laugh. “Come on, Jack, think with that big old brain of yours. You know that if Hopkins gets whipped by a couple of newsies, it’s gonna lead back to me.”

  
Jack cracks his knuckles and rolls his shoulders. “Not if he’s too scared to tell who’s who and what’s what, if you know what I’m saying.” He resumes his pacing and is halted by a hand gripping his arm, soft and loose. 

  
“Jacky, listen to me,” Dave whispers. “This is just like the strike. I’ve got to prove a point. To everybody in that class, the school board, the whole damn city. Just ‘cause someone’s poor doesn’t mean they don’t deserve an education.”

  
His voice is so soft that Jack feels it shake some of the anger loose and he sighs. That must encourage Dave that Jack is listening, because he pushes on. “My parents have given everything for me to stay in school. I owe it to them to graduate, if nothing else.”

  
Jack looks around them before pulling his sweetheart close, the dark theatre as private a place as any. “Okay, Davey, if this is what you want. Just promise me you’ll be careful?”

  
“That’s rich, coming from the most reckless man in New York,” Dave says, voice oozing relief as he tucks himself into Jack’s chest. 

  
They both are painfully aware that Dave doesn’t repeat the promise.

  
~ _March_ _1900_ ~

  
The third time the topic comes up, Jack and Dave aren’t even really there. 

  
Spring hasn’t yet arrived and while the cold is still bitter, still invasive, it’s not the deadly frost it had been. It’s Sunday afternoon and Jack, Les, and Dave had been hawking in Central Park. There’s a good headline, some princess gave birth somewhere, and the three of them have pushed almost two hundred papers by the time they break for lunch. They’re waiting for their order at a hot dog stand when Blink and Mush pop up behind them and they all eat together, huddled around a stove’s exhaust port behind some restaurant and taking turns with who stands closest to the heat.

  
Halfway through their meal, Mush almost chokes on his food when he remembers something. “Aw, hell, Mouth, we’s forgot to tell you- Hey, Blink what’d the lady say yesterday?”

  
“She said,” Blink says, picking up the story. “I think she said ‘do either of you boys know David Jacobs?’ So we’s said-”

 

Mush interrupts excitedly. “We said ‘sure do, ma’am’. And then she told us to tell you- well, what’d she tell us, Blink?”

 

Blink gives Mush an annoyed glare for the interruption and then turns a small smile towards Dave. “She told us to tell’s you that she’d buy a pape off any newsie who ran with David Jacobs. And then-”

 

“And then she gave us a whole quarter!” Mush crows. 

  
“Is that so?” Dave’s smile goes brittle around the edges. “Did she say her name?”

  
“She said she was ya poetry teacher. A tall lady, blonde hair.” Mush is already bored of the story and is licking his hot dog foil noisily.

  
Dave closes his eyes and breathes deeply. “Did she say anything else?”

  
Blink shrugs. “Something about how hard being a newsie must be and how no wonder you’s is always so tired.”

  
Jack can tell that something is wrong. Dave isn’t laughing at the story or congratulating the boys on their quarter. He’s just staring at his hands, covered in newspaper ink and hot dog grease and white with the cold. Jack steps closer and hopes the trembling he feels is just from the winter breeze. 

  
“I’m glad she was nice to you,” Les says around his last mouthful of food. “Miss Martel is a real bitch in class.”

  
“Les!” Dave gasps, scandalized. Blink and Mush howl in laughter and the strange tension is broken. 

  
Jack knocks Les with his hat. “Don’t talk about ladies like that, Les, it ain’t polite.”

  
That night, as the Jacobs boys collect their duffle from under Jack’s bed, an idea forms in Jack’s head. “Heya, Crutchie, I’m gonna walk with Dave and Les back home but I’ll be back tonight, okay?”

 

“Sure thing, Jack,” Crutchie mutters into his pillow, already falling asleep.

  
Dave is staring at him from the doorway. “You don’t have to do that,” he says suspiciously.

 

“Well, maybe,” Jack gets close and lowers his voice to something barely audible. “Maybe I’s just want some more time with my fella.”

 

Dave rolls his eyes and pushes Jack away, but he can see the blush spreading across the other boy’s cheeks and his lips quirking into a pleased smile. They walk the ten blocks to the Jacobs’ place in near silence, letting Les narrate for them and taking turns carrying the duffle full of clothes and books. They drop Les off at the window and continue up the fire escape to the roof, hands immediately finding each other in the dark.

 

“I miss being able to sneak away with you,” Dave whispers. They settle into their customary hinding spot, squished between the water tank and the chimney, and cold hands immediately find their way under shirts.

 

Jack groans in agreement. “Damn the cold. Anything the keeps Jack Kelly away from his sweetheart is evil.”

 

“The weather can’t be evil, Jack, it just is.” Dave nips at the soft skin under the taller boy’s chin. “But these long johns of yours on the other hand- why the hell are you wearing so many buttons?”

 

Jack barks a laugh and Dave hisses at him to be quiet. “Maybe I wants to see you work for it, hm, darling?” He asks playfully.

 

“I think you just like to see me suffer,” is all Dave manages to say before his lips are recaptured. They kiss until things get too heated and Dave pulls away, sucking in heavy, gasping breaths.

 

Jack, for all that he’s in a similar state, looks inordinately pleased with himself. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

 

Dave pokes at Jack and slides to the ground on shaky legs. “What’s wrong is I went and fell in love with a jerk,” he quips playfully.

 

“Mmm. Love. Say it again.” Jack settles down around Dave and wraps his tall frame around the other boy. “Or better yet, say ‘I love you, Jack Kelly’.”

 

“I love you, Jack Kelly.” The teasing tone is gone and Dave turns those blue, blue eyes up towards Jack.

 

“And I love you, David Jacobs.”

 

They sit in silence after that, just holding each other close under the New York sky. There aren’t any stars visible and it’s too cold to stretch out but Jack thinks that, aside from the smog, this is just as good as his abandoned dream of Santa Fe.

 

When they’ve both started to shift uncomfortably from the cold, Jack clears his throat. “You ain’t happy about ya teacher lady running into Blink and Mush.”

  
“I knew you were going to bring that up,” Dave says ruefully. “She doesn’t like me. I’m good at poetry and I’m going to pass that part of my exam either way, so sometimes I doze off.”

  
“‘Cause you’s is tired,” Jack says softly.

  
Dave shrugs. “It is what it is, Jack. I wake up at five o’clock to walk Sarah and Ma to the laundry, come back, get Les ready, walk to Midtown, go to school, run to Kloppman’s, go selling, and when I get home at -what time is it?- eleven o’clock, I’ve still got homework to do.” He sounds defeated, overwhelmed, drowning. 

  
Jack presses a kiss to his temple and mutters against his skin. “Gonna run you’s’self dead if ya keep this up.”

  
“I’ve only got two months until the test,” Dave consoles him, even though he’s the one suffering. “It’s fine.”

  
“Give me ya bits for tomorrow,” Jack says suddenly, instead of arguing with Dave about their different definitions of fine.

 

That throws Dave off enough that he laughs awkwardly. “What?” He asks.

  
“Give me the money for ya papes tomorrow and I’ll pick up ‘em up when I get mine. After school, you’s two can come back here and drop off ya books and change and meet me at... hm, how’s the market on Clyde Street? That way after we’s done selling, you can come straight home.” Jack doesn’t look at Dave as he speaks and instead takes in how their hands look tangled together.

  
They’re similar hands, he supposes, both large and masculine and covered in newspaper ink and grease and dirt. But where Jack has callouses from working his lasso and scarred knuckles from fighting and dirty, chewed down nails, Dave has smooth patches where he holds his pen, dry skin from compulsive hand washing, and neatly clipped nails. Jack is shocked out of his reverie by a tear drop falling onto the twist of fingers.

 

“Shit, Davey, what did I say?” Jack looks up to see Dave’s face screwed up and tears welling over. “Aw hell. I’m sorry, darling.”

 

Dave shakes his head and sniffles. “No, don’t be- don’t be sorry, Jacky. Thank you. That’s a real swell idea.”

 

“Wait... Are ya... happy crying? Damn, I thought only girls did- Ow!”

  
~ _April_ _1900_ ~

  
The fourth incident is where Jack draws the line.

  
It’s the first real day of spring and Jack wants to run through his city with open arms and no responsibilities. He can’t do that though, so he settles for hawking the morning edition alone, an extra pep in his step. After he collects the evening addition, he hurries to meet Dave and Les at their agreed meeting spot today, only to find Les alone, holding an apple and his paper satchel.

 

“Heya, Cowboy,” Les says and hops to his feet. “Ready to push some papes?”

 

Jack looks around the square anxiously. “Sure am, pal. Where’s Davey?”

  
Les pulls a face. “He told me to tell you he was sick,” the boy says with a hint of anger.

  
“He told you to tell me he was sick?” Jack’s heart stutters in his chest. “Are you saying he ain’t sick?”

 

Les spits at the ground and clenches his fist angrily. “No, he ain’t sick.” For all that Jack teases Les about being a kid, the ten year old has matured a lot since the day he bumped into Jack at Weasel’s distribution center all those months ago. “He got soaked by Alexander Hopkins’ gang and he doesn’t want you to see his face.”

  
“Son of bitch. He’s hurt?” Jack grabs Les and gave him a little shake.

  
“Not no worse than he got during the strike, really,” Les admits. “I think he’s mostly embarrassed that he let some schoolboys get ahold of him.”

  
That makes sense, Jack reasons. Dave is a prideful man who would do anything to preserve his dignity. Or, he had been, back before the strike. After everything they’d accomplished and everything that had happened between them, Jack had thought he’d let down his guard a little, at least where Jack was concerned.

  
Pushing the thoughts from his head, Jack hands over a portion of their papers -far too many for two boys to sell- and nudges at him. “Let’s get going, we’ll talk about what we’s gonna do with your simpleton brother later.”

 

Later turns out to be far, far later. Jack has almost fifty papers to turn in for reimbursement the next morning -a prospect that still thrills him- since a mixture of Les and Jack’s bad moods didn’t exactly mix well with the boring headline and the copious amount of papers they’d started with in the first place.

  
As they trudge through the dark streets, the sky opens up and releases a torrent of ice cold rain that sends the boy’s sprinting for the Jacobs’ building and when they arrive, they’re both shaking and chattering like drowned kittens. “Come in and warm up, Jack,” Ester orders and Jack obeys woodenly, too miserable to fight.

  
“Heya, Jack,” comes a weary voice from the corner. Jack turns to see Dave propped up on the couch, looking wearily at Jack, one eye a little black and blue.

 

“Do we know each other?” Jack asks coolly. “I’m here to see my pal Dave but you’s can’t be him, seeing as he has enough brains to not get his face bashed in.”

  
Dave scowls. “It’s hardly bashed in, Jack. You had a worse shiner less than a month ago.”

  
Jack stalks closer and is absently aware of Sarah shooing Ester, Mayer, and Les into the bedroom. “You’s right, and I still shows’d up to work the next day.” He kicks at Les’ play sword on the ground and it goes skittering across the floor.

  
“Don’t be childish,” Dave snaps. “I didn’t skip work because of my face, I skipped because of my hand.”

  
“Ya- fuck, Davey.” Jack falls to his knees in front of Dave and gently picks up his right hand that he somehow hadn’t noticed until now. It’s swollen and black and blue and two fingernails are missing. “What the hell happened?”

  
Dave’s eye softens a little but he still has a pinched expression on his face. “Are you implying that Les didn’t tell you the whole story?”

  
Jack shakes his head. “No, he just said that Hopkins sent his gang after you and you didn’t want me to see your face.” He double checks that the door to the bedroom is shut before pressing the softest kiss possible to the warm skin. “Where’s this Hopkins live?”

 

“Don’t get started-” Dave tries tiredly. 

  
Jack snarls. “Oh, I’s gonna get started. I’s gonna start with his toes and work my up until the last thing he sees is me pulling his eyes out. I’m gonna soak him so good, he’ll pray for it to end and then I’ll’s answer those prayers and move onto the next boy who had anything to do with this.”

 

Dave places his good hand on Jack’s chest. “You’re not going to do any of that. I’m taking my test in forty-two days, Jack Kelly. Just think; in forty-two days, your fella is gonna have a diploma. Doesn’t that sound worth a busted hand?” He smiles up at Jack softly, expression pleading. “They’re getting desperate, Jack. They smashed up my hand because they thought that’d stop me from being able to do my work.”

 

“And won’t it? You’s can do your homework with ya left hand?” Jack tries to focus on the problems he can work on, tries to be the fella Dave Jacobs deserves.

  
“Not really,” Dave says, looking down at his molted fingers. “But I only have one test in school this week and it’s arithmetic so that shouldn’t be too rough to manage with my left hand. Everything else, I can do at home and Sarah or Les will be able to help me.”

  
Jack nods in understanding. “And is there anything I can do?”

  
Dave opens his mouth and then snaps it shut, face conflicted. Jack huddles closer to the couch and grabs onto Dave’s shirt. “Please give me a way to help you, sweetheart,” he whispers.

 

“Ice,” Dave finally mumbles. “My hand hurts like hell and the midwife two floors down said to keep it on ice for as long as possible. There’s a nickel in the bowl on the counter, could you take it and bring me back a bag? The grocery on Becket Street is still open.”

  
“Yeah, yeah, no problem. I’ll be right back,” Jack says easily and hops up to comply.

  
He could do this. Forty-two days.

  
~ _May_ _1900_ ~

  
The fifth time Jack catches wind that Dave is being messed with by his classmates, he’s well and truly tired of the whole thing.

 

Dave’s test is in the morning and he hasn’t been out selling with Jack and Les all week, too busy hunched over books and notes to make an appearance. His hand is all healed up, besides for his missing finger nails, but he has a split lip that appeared sometime last week that is on the mend. Tomorrow, Jack reminds himself, and settles down onto the bed with Dave and Sarah. He’s holding a stack of cards covered with Dave’s careful handwriting and Sarah is holding Mayer’s pocket watch.

  
“And... go,” she says. 

  
Jack reads off the first card. “Capitol of Ohio.”

  
“Columbus.”

 

“Tenth president?”

 

“John Tyler.”

  
“Seventeen times twelve?”

 

“Two hundred and four.”

  
They keep going until Sarah stops them. “Five minutes. How many did he get, Jack?”

  
“Twenty eight,” Jack says proudly and puts the cards into their completed pile. “Listen, I’ve gotta get back to the house, Davey, but good-”

 

“Let me walk you out,” Dave interrupts and immediately heads for the window. He goes up instead of down on the fire escape, which makes Jack rolls his eyes, but he follows anyways.

  
They scan the roof for any other inhabitants before pressing close and intertwining their fingers. “You scared?” Jack asks.

  
“The famous strike leader David Jacobs? Scared of a test? Watch ya mouth or I might just have to send the toughest newsie in New York after you.” Dave shoots him a teasing smile.

  
Jack laughs, not because he thinks the topic is even remotely funny, but because it’s what Dave needs right now. “That’s right, I did hear you’s was warming the bed of the toughest newsie in the land,” he plays along. 

  
“What?” Dave puts on a comically confused face. “I’m not sleeping with Spot Conlon- ow, ow, ow, okay!” He bats away Jack’s pinching fingers and smiles again, brighter and more genuine than before. “I’m teasing, Jack. Yes, I’m a little nervous, but I’m mostly just excited for this to be over.”

 

“Don’t be nervous at all,” Jack insists and presses a kiss to Dave’s lips. “Good luck tomorrow, darling,” he says quietly before pulling away.

 

Dave catches him by the wrist and tugs him back. “Where do you think you’re going?”

 

“Bed? I’s got a job to get to tomorrow, unlike some lazy bums I know.” Jack waggles his eyebrows and tugs at Dave’s hold on his wrist.

 

The other boy shakes his head. “I don’t think so, Jack Kelly. The moon is out, the weather is nice, and I’m looking for more than that in my good luck kiss.” And then he presses his body against Jack’s in a way that no man could resist.

 

They kiss like the teenagers they are, all quick, fumbling movements and poorly concealed eagerness. Jack knows Dave’s body almost as well as his own now and he targets it’s soft spots ruthlessly; the soft patch under his ear, the fine hairs at the back of his neck. Dave responds with muted eagerness, both of them far too aware of the dangers that they’re courting by kissing another boy.

 

It isn’t until there’s a bang of a window across the street that they separate, both flinching away nervously and then laughing in relief.

 

“How was that for a good luck kiss?” Jack heaves into Dave’s neck, heart and lungs working double time.

 

“I think you pulled it off,” Dave manages. He reaches out to fix Jack’s unruly hair, using the same fingers to tame it as he had to send it askew. “Thank you for everything.”

 

Jack smiles gently as he does the same, adjusting Dave’s collar with a practiced hand. “Don’t be ridiculous, Davey. I ain’t done nothing for you I wouldn’t do for any of my boys.”

 

Dave rolls his eyes. “Please tell me you’re not kissing Racetrack senseless under the full moon? I’ll be so distracted with jealously, I’ll fail my test,” he proclaims dramatically.

 

“Well we can’t have that,” Jack offers. “So no, I ain’t been kissing Racer. It’s been Mush.”

 

They both laugh and then lean in for one last kiss, this time gentle and sweet. Jack leaves after that, because he knows Dave needs his sleep and he really does have to get back to the house- and because he won’t be able to walk away if he stays any longer. Just as Jack is swinging off the fire escape, he hears Dave’s voice and looks up to see the other boy leaning out of his window.

 

“Hey, Jack,” he shouts. “My test is in Brooklyn. Do you think that on his way to the track tomorrow, Racer can tell Spot that I’m not in Brooklyn on business?”

 

“Sure thing,” Jack yells.

 

He passes on the message to Race before they go to bed and makes a mental note to remind him in the morning. Which is why, when Jack wakes up to Spot Conlon about two inches away from his face, he thinks -while swearing in surprise- that maybe he’s dreaming. Can’t be good to fall asleep with Spot on the brain, after all. The pain he feels when he jerks against his bed frame convinces him that he’s awake.

 

“What the hell do you think you’s doin’?” Jack slurs, trying to force his mind awake.

  
Spot holds out a crumpled dollar bill and shakes it in Jack’s face. “Do you wanna explain why some Upper East looking gentlemen paid one of my boys a whole dollar to jump Mouth while he’s in Brooklyn today?”

 

“What?!” Jack yells and flies out of bed. “Who? When?”

  
“Last night. Some kid in a suit offered Wagon a dollar to jump Davey when he crosses the bridge. And what I wanna know is why any of ya boys ‘sides Racer is walking over that bridge without my permission.” Spot crosses his arms and waits but Jack is too busy yanking on his clothes to play the other leader’s games.

 

He shakes Race roughly. “Race, wake up!”

  
“Wha’?” Race mumbles as Jack dumps his clothes onto his face.

  
“Up! Now! Spot,” Jack, for all that he looks scared instead of angry, is clearly ready to pound the life out of Spot if it comes to it. “Davey ain’t headed to Brooklyn on newsie business, he’s taking his graduation test for school. Spot, tell me you told Wagon to leave him alone.”

  
Spot looks around in confusion, clearly unaware of what he’s just stumbled across. “I didn’t have to, Cowboy, all my boys know’s we square with Jack Kelly’s gang. He kipped the buck and high tailed it straight to me.”

  
Jack starts manhandling Race up and the other boy catches onto the fact that something is wrong. “What’s going on?”

 

Jack quickly tugs his boots on and starts rummaging for Race’s boots under the bunk. “Some fellas from Dave’s school is looking to soak him. Come on, we’s gotta hurry,” he finally finds Race’s shoes and the boy quickly pulls them on. 

 

“What?” He asks, outraged, as Jack hauls him and Spot out of the house roughly. “Those bums! I’ll kill ‘em!”

 

“That’s what we’s doing!” Jack yells and starts sprinting full tilt through the crowded streets. He can hear Spot catching Race up behind him, but all Jack can focus on is the danger that Dave, his- well, _his Dave_ is in. They reach the Brooklyn Bridge in record time and Jack -taller than Race and Spot by at least half a foot- starts to pull ahead.

  
He climbs onto a bench to look over the crowd and can see, at the distant end of the bridge, a swarm of familiar gray jackets. He starts running again, yelling loudly, but Dave must not hear him because none of the figures turn around. Jack keeps running, warm breeze blowing salt water into his eyes, and he can just make out which student is Dave -dark curly hair and faded, patched jacket- when he sees three of the boys break away from the group, dragging Dave with them into the nearest alley.

 

“Dave!” Jack yells again. It catches the attention of the other seven schoolboys, as well as the teacher accompanying them.

 

The boy that Jack remembers as Hopkins laughs openly and steps away from the rest of his classmates. “Jack?” He asks, as if in pleasant surprise; as if he were running into an old friend. “Jack Kelly? Well how do you- oof!”

 

Jack throws his weight into the boy’s middle and they both go tumbling into the dirt. He goes to punch the boy but there are suddenly a series of hands reaching in to separate them, all leading up to gray-sleeved arms. The schoolboys pull Jack away and he lashes out frantically, ears straining for any noise that may be coming from the alley. 

 

He can just make out Dave’s voice, “I don’t think you boys want to do this. Just think-”

 

“Do you have any idea who you are messing with?” Hopkins sneers at Jack, hat knocked to the dirt but otherwise unruffled. 

 

“Do you?” Jack shouts and thrashes against the boys -at least four of them- holding him back. “I’m Jack Kelly! Every street kid in this city owes me a favor!”

  
Hopkins only raises an eyebrow. “A reputation has nothing on actual money, Kelly. Jacobs is learning that right now.”

  
Anger and fear pulse through Jack. “Fuck you!” He pushes his weight against the boys at his back and swings his legs into the air wildly.

 

His right heel catches Hopkins in the forehead and the boy yelps in pain, face twisting in anger. “You’re going to pay for that!”

 

“Didn’t you’s hear?” A familiar voice interrupts and Jack cranes his neck to see Race and Spot pulling up. “We’s broke. We’ll have to pay the old fashioned way.”

  
And then they dive in. It’s seven against three, not fair odds by any standard, but Racetrack Higgins and Spot Conlon are two of the toughest men Jack has ever met. And Jack- well, nothing makes a man fight like the sounds of his sweetheart taking a punch. He can see the shapes of three unfamiliar bodies circling around the boy that Jack has promised himself to, can hear the wet pound of a fist into a stomach and the gasp of pain that he’s intimately familiar with.

  
“Dave!” He yells again, finally managing to break away from the brawl and stumble into the alley.

  
He manages to throw one of the boys into the wall before the other two even notice he’s there and Dave looks up with a confused face. “Jack? What’re you doing in Brooklyn?”

  
“Are you serious?” Jack asks incredulously as he punches one of the strangers in the stomach. “I find you getting soaked in an alley and you ask what I’s doing?”

 

Dave sways slightly standing up and puts his hands out in the universal calm-down gesture. “Jack, stop fighting them! They’ll have you arrested!” He makes a grab for Jack but winces and clutches his ribs.

  
“He’s right, you bastard,” says the ugliest of the school boys, face a mask of fury. He takes another swing which Jack dodges easily and uses the boy’s momentum against him, sending him careening into a wall. 

  
Dave swears and manages to get ahold of Jack on his second try. “Jacky, calm down! Five more blocks and then this is all over!”

 

“You’s really want me to walk away and leave these lousy bums standing?” Jack asks incredulously. “They’s was going to leave you here for dead!”

  
Dave doesn’t respond, only rushes -limping painfully, slowly- out of the alley. He dives between Race and Hopkins and shouts loudly for silence but all he gets is more chaos. The teacher is looking at the mess of teenage boys like he’s never seen a fight before, wide eyed and pale skinned. Three of Dave’s classmates are on the ground, looking fine for the most part- just unaccustomed, Jack thinks ruefully, to taking a beating.

 

“Everybody just calm down and-”

  
“What’s the meaning of this?” Dave -and the group at large- is cut off into silence at the sight of a police officer pulling close.

  
“These street kids attacked us!” Hopkins yells. “Arrest these bastards at once!”

  
The officer slowly inspects the group, eyes finally stopping on Spot. “Conlon,” he says in resignation. “Is you’s involved in this?” The officer’s Brooklyn accent is almost as thick as Spot’s own and Jack sucks in a hopeful breath. If Spot plays this right...

 

The Brooklyn boy casually pushes his sweaty hair out of his eyes, leaving a streak of blood on his forehead in the process. “Involved in what, officer? Me and Kelly here’s just chatting business. You know how it goes, union this, union that.” He shrugs, as if it’s too boring to talk about. 

 

“And what about you, sir?” The cops says, turning his head towards the teacher but eyes not leaving Spot.

 

“Um, yes, well...” The man shifts awkwardly on his feet and looks frantically between Dave and Hopkins. “The thing is-”

 

“The thing is,” Dave interrupts smoothly and limps forward to offer the officer his hand. “Hello, Dave Jacobs, officer, how do you? The thing is, is that my classmates and I are running late for our graduation test. I saw Kelly and Conlon having their meeting, we stopped to chat; I’m sure you know how it is when you run into old friends?”

  
The officer nods slowly, taking in Dave’s injuries -bleeding nose, split lip, tender ribs; easily the most severe of the group- and then glances back to Spot. “Conlon, you’s newsies and the cops may have an understanding, but I’s don’t want to see nothing like this happen again. We clear?”

  
“Clear as the East River,” Spot says cheekily and makes a lazy salute.

  
The officer glares but turns to leave and there’s a sudden uproar from the school boys. Hopkins grabs the cop by the sleeve and spins him around. “I demand you that arrest these- these criminals!”

 

“You’s better think twice,” the officer says lowly, before jerking his arm out of Hopkins’ grip. “About grabbing a cop when you’s so far from home.”

  
Hopkins eyes flash with indignant anger. “Do you have any idea who my father-” He’s cut off by the teacher placing a calming hand on his shoulder. 

  
“Have a good day, officer,” the older man says, probably aiming for casual but only coming across as nervous.

  
The officer levels one more warning finger at the group as a whole and then disappears on the busy street. The group eyes each other warily, Dave backing up until he bumps into Jack, Spot and Race flanking them. The schoolboys all hold themselves gingerly, unaccustomed to the pain and adrenaline that comes with a fight. It’s the teacher who finally breaks the silence, coughing into his fist apprehensively.

 

“We’d best hurry if we want to make the test, gentleman.” He stares at Dave with an unreadable expression. “I trust that you can make your own way, Mr. Jacobs?”

 

Dave nods, back of his head brushing Jack’s shoulder with the motion. “Yes, sir. I’ll be there.”

  
“Good,” the man says and starts prodding his other students away.

  
Hopkins looks like he’s going to say something else and Race lunges around Dave to grab the boy. He flinches back, and Race gives a satisfied grin while Spot laughs out loud. The teacher is able to finally pull Hopkins away after that and the mass of gray jackets starts to fade into the traffic. 

  
“Good luck on ya test, boys!” Jack yells out, oozing false cheer.  

  
Dave collapses his weight back against the older boy and grunts. “How’d you know to show up?” He asks.

  
“One of those dumb asses tried to pay a Brooklyn newsie to do their soaking for ‘em,” he explains, helping Dave settle onto a nearby crate. “Spot came over to Manhattan to brag about it.”

  
Spot snorts. “I wasn’t bragging, Cowboy.” He nudges at Dave with his toe and then squats to look at the boy directly. “How good’d they get you?” He asks. 

  
“My ribs hurt,” Dave admits.

  
Jack swears. “Aw hell, Davey, lemme see.” He starts rucking up Dave’s uniform and unbuttoning his undershirt.

 

He runs gentle fingers over the fresh bruises and Race lets out a whistle from behind him. “Mouth, you’s gonna be bending at the knees for a while.”

 

“At least they were too stupid to go for the hands this time,” Dave jokes weakly. He tries to laugh but it trails off into a painful hiss.

 

“That ain’t funny, Davey,” Jack says angrily. “I’m’a sick every guy we’s got after ‘em!”

 

Dave pats Jack’s cheek with a gentle hand. “Don’t be like that, Jacky. It’s over now. Just walk with me to the test and then it’s done.”

  
Jack feels like screaming. He feels like shaking Dave until it knocks something in his sweetheart’s brain loose. He doesn’t understand how Dave can take all of this -the humiliation, the beatings, the hatred- and still only think about his damn test. But he breathes in slowly and tries to remember what Dave had said about this being like the strike; about how there was more at stake here than met the eye.

 

So he nods ruefully and gets Dave’s arm over his shoulder. “Racer, get his other side. Where’s the test at, Davey?”

  
“St. Francis.” Dave shoots him a thankful look and starts to use Jack and Race to stand up. 

 

Spot makes sure they’re steady and then jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “On Remsen Street? It’s normally a fifteen minute walk but I know’s a shortcut that’ll get us there in ten, come on.”

  
True to his word, Spot weaves them through the streets of Brooklyn. They arrive outside the shiny new brick college where over a hundred boys, all in different uniforms, are waiting outside. Dave carefully pulls away from his friends and shoots them a thankful smile.

 

“Well, how do I look?” He asks, gesturing up and down.

 

Jack cracks the smallest of smiles and reaches out to button up and smooth out his uniform and run a quick hand through Dave’s perpetually untidy curls. ”Like a high school graduate already. Good luck on ya test, Davey.”

  
“Yeah, knock ‘em dead,” Race chimes in and Spot nods.

  
Dave smiles and shoots a look at Jack’s lips before blushing and looking away. “Too bad I don’t have a sweetheart to give me a good luck kiss,” he says down to the dirty sidewalk.

  
Spot and Race laugh and Jack tries not to let his face look too pleased. “I’m sure if you had a nice girl, she be planting a fat one right on that busted lip of ya’s.”

  
“Good,” Dave says and steps back. “I’d like that.” 

  
And then he falls back and joins the line of New York boys who, for whatever reason, have made it all the way to their last year of school. Jack watches the line filter slowly into the building, never losing sight of the curly hair and faded gray jacket that he knows so well. 

 

~

  
That night, they celebrate Dave’s test at the lodging house and Kloppman -as a congratulations gift- allows Dave to stay the night without paying rent. The newsies all crowd around Dave and sing as he blushes furiously.

 

“I haven’t even gotten my test results back,” he reminds everyone for the thousandth time. “I might’ve failed.”

  
Boots rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and Race might’ve finally bet on the winning horse.”

  
“Hey!” Race howls over everybody else’s laughter. 

  
Crutchie scoots closer to Dave and whisper-yells into Dave’s ear. “If it does turn out you failed, do’s we have to pay ya Ma back for the cake?”

  
That earns another round of snorts and Jack can’t help himself from knocking knees with Dave under the table. Dave’s ribs aren’t broken, according to the midwife in his building, just bruised, and while his broken nose has led to dark circles under his eyes, he‘s otherwise doing well.

  
The boys play poker until the littles start to drift off and Jack instructs them to go to sleep. The older boys head up to the roof and Jack excitedly frees his present for Dave from behind some loose bricks in the chimney- a large bottle of whiskey that he’d used his Santa Fe stash to buy.

 

“You boys are going to be the death of me,” Dave exclaims. At all the other boys’ incessant cheering, he takes the first swig from the bottle, holding it aloft as they hoot and cheer for him.

 

Jack can’t stop smiling and he has maybe a little too much of the whiskey; doesn’t stop until he unthinkingly leans in to kiss Dave in front of all the other boys. Dave shoves his face away playfully and the others don’t notice it’s any different from all the other rough housing.

  
Crutchie -god bless him- convinces everybody to go down to bed once the whisky is gone, leaving Jack and Dave to stretch out beside each other, both floating high on excitement and the buzz of more boozes than they’ve ever had before. Jack can't stop watching him, can't stop prompting Dave to talk, because as much had Dave earned the nickname Mouth for being a smart ass, Jack could watch that mouth of his for the rest of his life. And as the alcohol really hits Dave's system, Jack starts to notice something else.

 

"And then the auth'a-"

 

"The what?" Jack cuts in.

  
"The author," Dave repeats, glaring at Jack for the interruption. "Then the auth'a started-"

  
Jack smiles widely and pokes at Dave's cheek. It's a nice cheek "You said 'auth'a'. Since when does my Davey go around curling his r's?"

  
Dave frowns. "Sorry," he says up to the sky. "I guess being drunk brings my accent out." The words come out measured and paced and Jack frowns.

 

"But you's don't has an accent?" He argues.

  
Dave stretches and wiggles against Jack's side. "I've lived in New York my whole life, Jacky, of course I have a New York accent. It's just that I, you know, work on it. The teachers don't -didn't- like it."

  
"Well, that's just stupid." Jack says simply. "You talk real beautiful, darling, don't let nobody tell you any different." Dave doesn't respond and they lay in silence for another long moment. When Jack forgets what they'd been talking about, he wiggles his arm under Dave’s neck and kisses his hair. “When will you get ya test back?”

  
Dave rolls over to rest his head on the other boy’s chest. “They’re posting the results June first, and then the graduation ceremony is on June ninth.”

 

“I’m so proud of ya, baby,” Jack continues, hands making their way to Dave’s hair. “My sweet darling, my own fella, getting a diploma.”  
 

Dave snorts and then winces at the pressure on his ribs. “It’s just a piece of paper, Jacky. Why don’t you save the waxing poetic for when I get a job?” He nuzzles his way under Jack’s chin and kisses a patch of missed stubble.

  
“And what kinda job are you’s gonna get?” He asks back. “Doctor? Lawyer? College professor?”

  
Dave swats at Jack’s chest. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got go to college for all that stuff first, Jacky.”

  
“Well why don’t ya?” Jack asks, trying to focus on Dave’s face with his booze-fuzzy vision. “You’s smart enough.”

  
Dave rolls off of Jack and flops onto his back, sighing as he stares up at the stars. “Even if my test comes back high enough to get me to college on scholarship -which I doubt will happen- you need money to go to college. That’s another four years where I can’t work, or can only work part time. Plus you need nice clothes, expensive books- it just isn’t an option. But... I’ve been thinking about becoming a grade school teacher. You know, teaching littles to read and do basic math. I like kids, and I like the idea of one of their first teachers not caring if they’re from a working class family.” He smiles slyly at Jack. “And it'll give me my fill of children, since I went and fell in love with a boy who can’t give me any of my own.”

 

“Brat,” Jack quips back playfully, but now he can’t stop thinking about it. Dave as a teacher. Dave walking to work every morning in a nice suit. Dave making enough money to support a family... “If you ever find a girl who... who you want, who can give you’s a family... Davey,” Jack pushes himself onto his elbows and stares at Dave for all he’s worth. “Promise me you won’t let me hold you back.”

 

Dave smiles sweetly and taps his lips. Jack complies and they kiss passionately, whiskey and chocolate cake on their tongues. “I’d rather have you,” he whispers when they pull apart.

  
“Good.”

  
~ _June_ _1900_ ~

  
The next time it comes up is a week after graduation.

  
The ceremony had been boring but Jack had sat quietly -between Ester and Sarah, in his good jacket and a hat- and clapped only half as loudly as he wanted to. David had scored in the top ten percent of New York’s graduating young men; high enough to get academic scholarships but not, as he’d predicted, to be offered a student salary. He’s applied to some different teaching positions around the city and is waiting for offers back and Les is off for summer vacation, so Jack has both his selling partners back and is making the most of it.

 

He knows that he doesn’t have long left as a newsie, that any day now a younger kid is going to come along and need Jack’s bed at the boarding house and Kloppman will have to kick him out; that he’ll be forced to get a job in a factory or on the docks and go find a tenement  building. He’s been thinking of asking Dave if they should start hunting for an apartment together. It isn’t uncommon for two single men to live together and he and Dave have been... _together_ for almost a whole year now.

 

Today is the day that he‘s going to ask, he’s decided. Les and Crutchie are hawking on a nearby corner, baby face and crutch bringing in customers easily. Dave and Jack are wandering up and down the street posing as their ‘competition’, driving people towards the actual money makers. It‘s a good system and they’d already gone back to the distribution center to pick up a second batch of the evening addition.

  
“Extra, extra, New Yorker first woman to win Olympic medal! Helen the sailor takes her place in history!”

 

Dave looks happy, Jack thinks, shouting out the headline down the block. He’s got on the same shirt he was wearing the day they met, actually, though it doesn’t look at all the same. Dave is far too muscular to button it all the way up, leaving the top two undone, and his tie is nowhere to be seen.

 

“I’m about to be stuck wearing a tie every day,” is all Dave had said when Jack had asked him about it.

  
His hat is tipped back, now that the sun has set, and there’s a fresh speckling of freckles high on his cheeks. Jack wants to kiss each one. With a loose, unbuttoned vest and pushed up sleeves, he makes a striking image. If Jack didn’t know him, he wouldn’t be able to reconcile the image of Dave getting ready for his interviews, in his nice suit and holding a briefcase, with the man he’s looking at now. 

 

When they’ve sold all but four of their papers -reserved for Jacobi, Medda, Mayer, and Kloppman- Jack and Dave collect Crutchie and Les and start walking the familiar path back to the lodging house. They’re all laughing and bumping shoulders and Jack wants to live in this moment forever; wants to bottle up this feeling and sell it.

  
“One paper, please,” an irritatingly familiar voice sounds out, stopping all four boys in their track.

  
Standing in front of the group, wearing an absurd suit and holding the arm of a beautifully dressed girl, is Alexander Hopkins. He holds out a hand and Jack can make out a penny pinched between his fingers. Crutchie, having never had the displeasure of meeting Hopkins and being of an annoyingly optimistic disposition, immediately smiles.

 

“Sorry, sir, all the papes we got left are for regulars.” He moves to keep walking and Jack places warning hands on Crutchie’s elbow and Les’ shoulder. 

  
Hopkins tuts in disappointment. “What about for a nickel? Surely a gimp like you could use the money.”

 

“Hey!” Jack shouts in anger and surges forward. Dave stops him with a hand to his chest, the same hand that’s holding the last of their papers. “Davey, you better not try and stop me-”

  
Dave interrupts him in a low voice. “Just hold our papes, Jacky,” he says. 

  
And, even though Jack hates that man so much it makes his hands shake, he loves Dave more. So he takes the papers, wrinkling their edges in his tight grip. Davey then turns back around to face Hopkins and- And punches the other man in the face so hard that he falls to the ground. The woman at his side gasps and jerks back a few steps and Dave pays her no mind, crouching to look Hopkins in the face.

 

“Heya, Alex,” he says in a cool voice. “I heard you’ve got your entrance interview with Columbia coming up. When is that?”

  
“Fuck you!” Hopkins snarls from the ground, voice bubbling the blood pouring from his nose.

 

Dave sighs patiently. “I asked when your interview was. See, I was thinking about gathering nine of my friends and waiting for you outside. Would you like that?” 

 

“Alex, what’s going on?” The woman cries and Jack looks at her evenly.

  
“Ya fella here got some’s of his buddies to jump my pal,” he tells her. “We’s just looking to return the favor.”

  
“Yeah!” Les yells from behind Jack. “Lemme at him, Davey!” He dives around Jack but the older boy catches him by the back of his shirt.

 

“Let ya brother handle this,” Crutchie says quietly.

 

Dave stands and brushes off his pant legs. “I think it’s handled, fellas.” He pulls one of the papers from Jack and then leans over Hopkins again, who is moaning in pain. “Good luck getting into Columbia with a shiner, Alex. Have a pape, it’s on the house.”

 

And then he drops the newspaper onto the other boy’s chest and starts walking away, Crutchie and Les following him and cheering wildly.

 

Jack looks at the woman one more time, who is frozen with shock. “Is he ya sweetheart?” Jack asks her. She nods. “Leave him. If he really loved you, he’d’a never let you see this.”

 

And then he follows his own sweetheart down the street, wondering what he’d done to deserve him.

  
~ _July 1900_ ~

  
Jack and Dave move into a studio apartment a month later, six blocks from the grade school that has hired Dave and ten from the Sun distribution center that has hired Jack.

 

“Maybe I’ll start calling you Weasel,” Dave teases when he hears the news.

 

“You’d better not,” Jack warns shortly. “Not unless you want to have our first real fight.”

 

Dave smiles slyly and reaches around Jack to close the curtains. “Maybe that is what I want. After all, now that we’ve got our own place, I was thinking we could give angry sex a try.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All feed back is welcome.


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